Burning Bridges
by Caelta
Summary: Over the years, Helen has burned a lot of bridges.  Now, she's down to her last one.  She's reached a point of no return, and is literally dragging Tesla down with her.  It's up to him to build new bridges and salvage their relationship. Teslen!


My take on the Season 4 Teslen bomb. If you haven't seen it and don't know what I'm talking about (Episode 12 and 13, Sanctuary for None) then I advise you quickly shield your eyes and run away. Which means: spoiler alert. Take it from me, you'd better go watch that finale. Otherwise I don't know why you're lurking around on here.

But to the point, this story is a bit of a sequel to my previous "To Bite the Bullet" but I promise it can also act as a standalone piece. There's absolutely no need to have read my other work, other than, y'know, because I'd be a very happy person if you did. Needless to say, this takes place during the events of the last couple of episodes, all in Tesla's POV. Enjoy!

Disclaimer: All recognizable material belongs to the rightful owner and affiliates of which I am, sadly, not a part.

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><p>It's insane to him.<p>

He doesn't tell her this, of course, but it irks him nonetheless. Countless hours spent in futility are enough to drive him mad…or mad-der, depending on one's perspective. Scientists and insanity did always seem to come in pairs. Like poptarts, he thinks.

Like couples. Like the protégé and dear Abbey, Heinrich and his wolf girl, Kate and what's-his-face, and all those filthy, rotund beasts they called 'nubbins.'

He could have been a part of that. A couple. Not that he wants to be, strictly, but she takes his thoughts places he'll never truly admit to her outside of his head.

It always does come back down to her at some point. It's only ever a matter of time. And time always does have a way of creeping up on them both.

One day he's standing next to her balking over the mechanics of these new things called 'automobiles,' and then he blinks and suddenly a hundred years have gone by and they haven't really spoken in over half a century.

It's just insane. What's more insane, what's really driving him insane, is that she doesn't believe him. She never has, not really.

What more does she want? What more could she _possibly _want out of him? He's tried all sorts of things, said all sorts of things to her, and nothing works. She doesn't hesitate for an instant to brush him off, every time, and it's starting to get to him.

As much as he wants to quit, forfeiting is not an option. Not when it's Helen Magnus on the line. He's wanted her for longer than not-so-free Willy and Henrik put together have been alive, and he's not going to give up so easy.

She's put up a merry chase, but he's not letting up on his end. He'll chase her through hell and back if necessary—which, on second thought, might actually be necessary given her line of work.

Years of this insanity, of this game of cat-and-mouse, make him wary of her. She is much different than the easily persuaded girl of her youth, the girl so easily courted and won by Druitt. Though her smile still moves the sun, and he can spot the same softness in her eyes sometimes when she's being particularly careful, the girl of over a century ago is lost. The years have hardened her, sharpened her, and there is something about her he no longer recognizes.

As much as it bites at his soul, it mesmerizes him. Somewhere underneath this stone exterior is the woman he knew, and he's obsessed with finding her as much as he's obsessed with getting to know this new side to Helen.

Knowing he's got his work cut out for him, he picks and chisels at the stone every chance he can get. At the same time, he reflects.

It takes getting shot in the chest a couple of times for him to realize that she's never going to take him seriously if he doesn't change something with what he's doing. At that point, he still has no idea what that means.

It's after Ashley that he realizes he's never taken her as seriously as maybe he should have. She's a woman of few true ties to the world around her, nothing with serious threat of putting her in her place, and he discovers in her grief that her daughter was one of only a handful of people that she allows a connection. He thrives in the knowledge that he's one of them, but he also knows this means he has to tread carefully.

Enduring the ardor that is existing as a mere mortal teaches him that she's not the only one that's been holding back. When one has all the time in the world, it's easier to entertain that anything is possible. Under a limited lifespan, it suddenly occurs to him how very little he's actually been trying.

Praxis is what gives him the humility to realize that there are puzzles even he cannot solve, things even he does not know, and that if he doesn't figure out what it is she needs from him then he could very well lose her.

His re-vamping, as he likes to call it, is what clues him in on the fact that she needs him just as much as he needs her, and it annoys him that he can't get it out of her. They've spent decades dancing around each other, bouncing between partners only to rebound back to each other, and it's unequivocally frustrating that she won't just come out and admit it already. Still, he has no idea what she's waiting for.

Finally, when he watches her walking carpet go rogue and sees the lines on her face, the hurt in the way she holds her shoulders and the way she won't quite allow herself the time to sit still, it all hits him squarely in the face. This, this crushing frivolity, is what he's been doing to her.

His own stupidity enrages him. He'd been doing stuff like this for years and took it for granted the way she let it fly, chalking it up to some kind of mutual trust that went beyond the now, back to when they were still kids at Oxford. But it's strangely difficult to ignore the ugliness and the brutality of it when it's objectively staring him right in the eye.

He cannot allow for the past to account for his actions. There is no 'get out of jail free card' when it comes to what he's done; what he'd thought she'd taken in stride had actually been a collage of well-aimed rounds hollowing out what very little she already thinks of him. The truth of it is, he's never been as close to losing her as he is right then, and it sets a fear in him that he cannot shake.

Suddenly, he knows exactly what it is she wants—what's been holding her back all these years.

She doesn't want a confession, she wants a commitment. And she doesn't want him to spell it out for her in words, doesn't want him to show up with a couple of glasses of chardonnay and try to weasel his way into her life again, she wants proof. Cold, hard proof.

His actions hadn't made it quite evident. Attempting to revive his race for world domination and joining SCIU didn't exactly make his dedication to her crystal clear. He recognizes then that she pushes him away for the same reason she'd pushed away John: trust.

What's insane becomes the fact that she puts more trust in some half-wit protégé with a name like Zimmerman than in _him_, a life-long friend and colleague. To her, his actions have never held esteem, and it's abominable. Their relationship is more of a mother and her drug-addicted teenager than of equals, and it aggravates him because he's more her equal than this new shrink kid will ever be, however hard he tries. And he does try.

That is why, as soon as it all falls into place in his mind, he decides that a little compensation is in order. He only has a century to make up for, after all.

He'd never stoop so low as to actually admit to her what led him to his decision; he'd rather her think it was all in his ingenuity and genius that finally allowed for him to pick up where he left off in their torn relationship. That it had actually taken him this long to get to where he is also leaves him feeling less than genius-like, but that's another thing he's keen on leaving out.

He plans on staying. For good, this time—not because he's been sacked, though he's sure that's what she'll attribute it to, at first. Although he's never been very big on the stationary living thing, he knows that the sacrifice is well worth the prize.

Almost ironically, he's nearly drowning in wine by the time he comes to his conclusion to take a stab at romantic and to stake a claim in what, by now, should be his. Theirs.

When she comes down to tell him to go help Henry in some scheme or other, he barely hears her. She looks frazzled, giving an exasperated groan at the amount of wine he's got lying around. The look in her eyes is harried. No doubt, she's in the middle of another one of her crises, and she's trusting him in some very important work. Probably salvation-of-the-world quality work.

She asks if he's heard her, and he grins. It probably infuriates her, because she stalks over to him and snatches the glass from his hand, daring him to complain. She's in the middle of some tirade or other, words glancing off the walls of her musty cellar as she huffs and sighs, but he can't bring himself to really pay attention beyond that cute little accent and the edge in her tone.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Nikola knows she means business. He knows that what she's telling him is vital to the existence of her Sanctuary, knows she's all nerves because she won't stop talking long enough to take a breath, and knows he really should be doing as asked.

But she's wearing a tight little pencil-skirt with two rows of buttons caressing down from her hips to her thighs, and her blouse is a seamless rouge that cuts down to her chest. He doesn't look away, not for an instant.

In two strides he's crossed the room and is in front of her, venturing to slide a hand past her curt expression to brush her hair away from her face where it's stuck on her still-moving lips. Her next sentence falters, and he slides his own words into the opening like he'd been planning it all along.

"I love you."

It's probably the millionth time he's said it, but it's the first time he knows what he's saying. This is not a declaration; it is a promise.

It stuns her into dead silence. She gapes at him like he's finally lost it, which is in all likelihood very possible. There's a flash of insecurity she conceals expertly, but it doesn't escape his notice.

She's about to say something when her phone rings, crashing through the moment without reserve, and he swears he could rip apart whoever's on the other end in painstaking detail. Jumping at the noise, she answers it with a strained voice. She's smoothing her skirt and combing through her hair as she walks out, and he doesn't miss the little glance she sends him before she hurries out the door and down the hall.

He doesn't know whether to be ecstatic or furious, in the wake of her departure.

There's so much he wants to do for her, so much he plans on doing. As long as it takes for her to believe him, he'll leave to waste her wine stores and be on his best behavior. He'll allow her to domesticate him, at least in body, as loath as he is to the prospect. He'll buy her flowers, cook her dinners, all the little things he's sure will bring her to her wit's end as much as they'll delight her.

In the end, it's a waste.

He doesn't know what she's planning, but he would know that Helen-Magnus-is-up-to-something look from a mile away, and he doesn't like it. Not, at least, while he's not in on it. He desperately wants her to give him some sort of hint, but all she does is tell him to play assistant to the wolf-boy (as if he'd resort to that demeaning position) and hand him cylinders of blue muck to analyze.

It's when he figures out what's _really_ in said cylinders that he gets a true perspective on the matter at hand. His first thought is that she's in over her head. _Way_ in over her head. And she couldn't seriously consider not letting him in on whatever her big secret was, not after this.

Apparently, she could.

She hadn't batted an eyelash when he'd told her the tech _he'd_ designed was being used against them, and she'd just announced to society that monsters exist. He doesn't see this errant behavior as a sign of impulsiveness. She's got young William on SCIU territory while a band of vengeful abnormals is being shepherded towards the center of her Sanctuary. He notices the residents are missing, exported, and to him it reeks of an agenda. There's no way she isn't planning something big, and it does not sit well with him.

By the time he figures it out, or at least part of it, it's too late.

When she goes to tell him to leave, she takes him completely off-guard. He thinks she's just going to give him a quick hug and a soft word to be on his way, but what he doesn't expect, what he's so fully and utterly unprepared for, is for her to meet him across that distance to crash her lips into his.

He freezes, entirely taken aback.

It isn't chaste, but neither is it lingering. The kiss is meaningful in a way he can't quite grasp, passionate in a way that he knows isn't desire, and before he can so much as make a move to kiss her back or touch her, she pulls away.

The desperation and fear, the sheer and outright apprehension and uncertainty in her gaze when he looks up at her stops his heart cold.

"Go, Nikola," she urges, and he can feel himself moving. The look in her eyes strikes a new and more profound sense of dread in him with each step he takes. He's willing her to call him back, trying to communicate to her in seconds what it's taken him years to realize, wondering what on earth this means for them, and begging that she let him help, but she doesn't say another word. She just looks at him, and it's a look that's burned onto the backs of his eyes by the time the metal grate slides down to block his view.

All too soon, he makes another realization. As he's witness to her life's work going up in flames around them, he realizes that there's something he never accounted for in his lifetime of chasing after her: her death.

He feels something snap inside of him, then, knowing that he's too late, knowing that he's been so close to something he could for decades only dream about. How can he lose her, after that?

There's no way. There is absolutely no way that Helen has just allowed that to happen. There is no way that she's just done that to him—that she was able to look into his eyes like that and kiss him, knowing what she was about to do.

She surprises him, still.

And the worst past is, she was right there in front of him, warm and real and _alive_, not even thirty seconds ago.

Dear God, it was goodbye. That kiss was her goodbye.

He doesn't know if he can handle that, so he doesn't. He doesn't think about it, or what it means. He just stands up, dusts himself off, and continues on his way.

"Bloody hell," says Henry, and he grimaces. He couldn't agree more.

It's insane.

Henry looks as heartbroken as he feels, but he cannot find it within himself to have pity for the kid when _he's_ the one that stands to lose the most. But then, Tiny Tim does something that puts him to shame as much as it kills him.

"Doc's not dead," the kid mutters, his jaw set.

As much as he wants to believe that, they both saw what just happened. To deny something so obvious is pure delusion. He thinks about intervening, but the wolf-boy seems rather adamant about pacing off into the street.

It takes him a couple of minutes to work out how the kid may have actually been right. Hope isn't something he dares to have, but a goal is something he can work with. It keeps him busy, keeps the grief at bay.

It's another thing he's never accounted for—grief. Not of this sort. There were his setbacks over the years that left him less than pleased, but those were fueled with more fury than sorrow. This is of a different kind. This is something he hasn't encountered before, and the rawness of what eats at him is a little terrifying in itself.

It takes him a few weeks to finally track down dear William. The first sign that not all is as it seems is that the protégé has disappeared, and Nikola thoroughly doubts that he's died. The kid's barely been spotted in weeks, and he's quit his job at SCIU as of the week following the incident. This smacks of Magnus's work enough to give them, meaning he and Henry, a significant lead, especially considering that dearest Will is not answering calls.

Their plan of action is, of course, to get at his ladyfriend. It's common knowledge she's employed at SCIU these days, and she's certainly due for a visit.

What neither of them anticipates is for Helen to have been a step ahead. The fact that she is, that she's somewhere out there thinking and moving and breathing, is refreshing. It's enough to invoke a relief so deep, so violent that it nearly brings Nikola to his knees. Instead of collapsing in joy and rolling around on the floor in it, though, he opts to cross his arms. It does nothing to contain what's in his chest, but it fools the girl that's shifting a look between him and Heinrich.

"It's about time you guys showed up, we thought you'd be sooner than this," says Abby. She peers at them each like it's a shock. "Well, anyway, now that you're here, she said to give you this. But look, I can't say any more, okay?"

He seizes the paper from her, looking it over with caution. It's a location. Vague as it is, if it brings him any closer to her, to where she physically crosses her ankles and brushes her teeth and bites her lips, then he'll take it.

Henry, however, is not so easily satisfied. "Listen, if the Doc's alive and you know where she is, you need to tell us. Will's been hiding from us for, I dunno, he just…" He groans. "I'll kill him."

She's defensive, holding up her hands like she doesn't know where any of this is coming from. "Uh…woah, slow down, guys. I'm sworn to secrecy, okay?"

It's clear they aren't getting any more out of her despite Henry's insistence, and Nikola has the good sense to know when to back down. That, or impatience to get on with it lends him the ability to ignore the fact that William's little twat is enjoying this far too much. It's more likely the latter, but he likes to think he's reasonably tolerant.

Before they leave, Abby tells them to bring sensors. Look for thermal activity, energy signatures. It's her last and only suggestion, but he's already way ahead of her. He practically has to drag the wolf-boy away from her before any real damage can be done, and he wonders how Helen has come to rely on one so hot-blooded. …then again, how can he blame the kid?

He almost wants to shake the information out of the girl himself.

Helen better appreciate his use of decorum, he thinks, because as soon as he finds her he's pretty sure he's going to lose it.

Lucky him, the drive down takes more time than he's really willing to spend with the excitable and chatty Mr. Foss. It might be mildly pleasant if the boy would let him alone to read, but of course, Henry would not have it. He cranks up the stereo and blasts hard rock so loud it gives Nikola a headache, rolling the windows down just in case the world doesn't have enough useless noise. He's pretty sure that if he has to listen to Hot for Teacher one more time, Helen is going to be short one dorky engineer. Now that Helen's death seems less imminent, the kid's spirits certainly take a turn for the better—and so does his appetite.

Henry has the gall to ask him if he wants anything from Burger King. It is then that he decides that all of his former progress with the otherwise promising and well-equipped child is work down the drain.

When they reach a mountain range, he sighs audibly in the promise of deliverance from Henrik's overzealous comparison of their foray to several scenarios involving superhero characters. The sensors, as predicted, start going wild over something presumably deep below the surface, and this excites the Hap more than is strictly necessary.

Nikola cannot deny his own curiosity or that creeping feeling in his throat like exhilaration, but at least he keeps it to himself as much as possible.

They press on, deeper underground through a well-hidden entrance, and the sharp-cut tunnels and exposed plumbing are a sight that increases their sense of anticipation. Dust and grit taint the air, but it's surprisingly fresh for how far down they are. There must be a vent of some kind farther in.

Each step brings Nikola closer to the suspicion that Helen's been busier than they thought—that she'd had a lot more on her plate than the prospect of dodging the bullet. He hopes that he's getting closer to Helen too.

There's some kind of magnetic disturbance coming from the same spot their sensors seem so keen on, he can feel it through the pull of the earth. It gets stronger the farther they travel.

"Dude, what do you think that is?" Henry is prodding at a box on the wall similar to the entrance system used by the former Sanctuary, and it has Helen's name written all over it.

"I don't know," he admits. "But if I had to guess, I would tell you to keep your hands to yourself."

Too late. "Oh man, I'm all over this baby. How much you wanna bet there's not even a transistor in this thing?" The Hap was playing the buttons like an instrument, and he was about to pop off the front when a flash of green stopped him in his tracks. A scanner.

"Dude," propositions Henry. Nikola has since ceased trying to convince the child that his name is not, and never will be, 'dude.' "Did you just see what I saw?"

"Curious," he agrees.

"This is _so_ Planet X, man!"

Since he has no inkling of what the wolf-boy refers to, he ignores the comment. Neither of them gets the opportunity for further investigation, because a passageway to their right glides its way open and they are impacted by the sound of rushing water.

When he sees it, all of it in all its pristine pavement, glass, and clinical blanket of serenity, he is overcome. At once, he both despises and adores it. As much as it stands a testament to her unparalleled brilliance and the fact that she's alive, it's also a shocking reminder that everything else is gone and that he'd come horrifically close to losing her.

Henry looks vaguely like he's about to fall over.

"Okay, I take that back," he says. "_This_ is Planet X."

"If by that you mean Praxis, then agreed."

It does give a striking similarity to the Hollow Earth city with its monorail and its fake sky. But the awe is only temporary; it is overtaken by something stronger.

He needs to see her. Now.

He doesn't even know where the front door is, doesn't have any idea which building or crevice he needs to be looking at, but he soon realizes that the layout is not that dissimilar from her old castle—with quite a few differences, of course, but he feels fairly confident that he can find his way to her anyway.

"Henry," he demands. "Give me a direction."

It takes a minute for the Hap to catch on, but he obliges with pleasure. "On it."

"Good boy."

It takes only a couple of super sniffs before they're both charging and storming through white-coated hallways, and Nikola has to wonder where the cavalry has got off to. It isn't like her to leave out the welcoming committee.

It crosses his mind that something might actually be wrong, because he honestly wouldn't be surprised if they'd arrived just in time for the latest catastrophe.

In sync, they both burst into her office at once. The first thing he sees is her, sitting calmly across from him like she's been expecting them all along, which she probably has been. But she isn't alone.

"Geez, what took you so long?" accuses Kate. He's thoroughly tired of being pinned as late.

It doesn't take long for them to break out the hug-fest.

Everyone's all smiles and laughs, and for a moment he is too, but it doesn't last. While they're all having a party, he recognizes that there's something else that still bothers him. It's all good and well that she's built her little reservation all over again, and he could weep for how she's actually sitting right in front of him, but…

It takes half an hour before the runt leaves, and another fifteen minutes before the wolf-boy follows suit. Now that he has her alone, he's stricken by the fact that he doesn't quite know what to say. He'd had plenty of lines all planned out, but now that she's right here in the flesh, looking up at him expectantly, he finds himself suddenly at a loss.

What does one say to a dead woman?

He winks. "I like the dress." Her lips are immediately pursed, no doubt finding him incorrigible, but he continues. "Although I have to say, I don't know if I like what you've done with the place. Don't get me wrong, I'm impressed. It's all very à la mode, but you've outdone yourself. I liked it better when it was falling apart."

She's shaking her head, but she laughs despite herself. "So did I, to be honest, but we both knew that couldn't last. Not with the direction things were headed. It had to be this way, Nikola."

He doesn't skip a beat. "You could have told me."

But she's prepared for that. "Impossible."

"How?"

"It was a necessary measure to ensure the safety and the confidentiality of the new Sanctuary. No one could know what I was planning, and certainly not that I was alive."

"Helen…" he pushes. "I watched you die." He can't convey to her in their whole lifetime what the agony of that one instant had felt like.

Her gaze softens, and she looks guilty. "I know." A pause, and silence blankets them in a few contrite moments of dedication to not meeting one another's eye. "But the majority of you still have connections to SCIU. It was imperative that, in the aftermath at least, nothing present itself as artificial. That includes your reactions. I'm sorry."

He acknowledges the burden of what she's had to carry, knows the weight and the pressure of 113 years must have been hell, and only wishes that he could have somehow shared that with her. She's been playing everyone like puppets for years, and now that she's finally run out of rope, he can't find it within himself to be angry. He expects no less from such a great mind.

Frankly, he's done worse.

"Well, I can't say I don't blame you, but there's yet another little quandary that manifests itself." By the look in her eye, she knows exactly what he's getting at, and it makes him smile. "We have a bit of hot water, you and I. Wouldn't you agree?"

"I believe you're going to have to be more specific," she says coyly. It melts him.

"Why, Helen Magnus, are you playing hard to get?"

It brings a touch of color to her cheeks, and that excites him, but she's just as collected and nonchalant as ever when she replies, "I'm glad you find this amusing."

"On the contrary, I find it highly magnetic."

Her dubious look informs him that he has succeeded. "Really, Nikola?"

"You laughed."

"I must have been too shocked to notice."

She's clever. He remembers too late just how much, and it reminds him again of what lies between them. Slipping back into seriousness, he crosses the room to stand openly in front of her.

"You kissed me."

"Yes, I did." She's also maddening.

"And…?"

Helen looks to him like she doesn't quite grasp his point. "Are you expecting a repeat performance?"

That sets him back down a notch. It gives him pause, and he considers that perhaps they aren't really on the same page after all. "Uh…sorta."

Sadly, she only smiles down at her lap. The disappointment he feels at the gesture is profound, and he can't quite bring himself to believe it.

"Nikola," she begins, and he's ready for a letdown by the time she follows up with, "I have a proposition for you."

He's all ears. "Tell me you want me to make all your dreams come true," he smirks. "I'll say yes."

"Actually, it's more of a job offer." She takes a deep breath, and he can tell this is difficult for her. "I have a position for you on my staff if you're interested."

"Is this your way of asking me to stay?" He knows it is, and he almost can't contain his elation. The way she frowns is delectable, and he drinks in her doubt with an almost unhealthy indulgence. She's unsure, and it's somewhat funny to him because of course he'd planned on staying all along.

She nods once.

"Oh, well if you insist." His relinquishment is almost instant, and she looks for a second or two like she doesn't buy it.

And then she's doing it again. She's taking him by surprise, usurping his authority, and quite literally invading his space with what he would label 'the repeat performance.' This time, he takes care to extend the same hospitality, and he doesn't even think about asking questions until she's good and done. It's a little bittersweet, because he can't help but think of the circumstances surrounding the last time he'd found himself in this position, but the fact that she's there and nothing is exploding is enough to temper out his anxieties.

"You know," he says, "I don't think I've ever come across someone so bossy. Although, I have to ask, what changed?"

She doesn't even blink. "You did, Nikola."

It's what he wants to hear. He doesn't even know it's something he wants until it's out of her mouth, doesn't even know for sure it's something _she_ wants until her mouth is on his, but it's oh so worth it.

"So…building paradise, incinerating to death in a fiery inferno, making out with a hot vampire…all in a day's work, right?"

She rolls her eyes. "You know better."

"I do." She's magnificent, and he can't really compete with something so intense, so right, that he's willing to spend an eternity at her side, atoning for what they've done to each other. "I'd say congratulations are in order."

It's insane, how much he's in love with her—how long in coming this had been.

She doesn't want to hear it, but she deserves it, and so he says it anyway. "Well done, Helen."


End file.
